Schism
by Emmeebee
Summary: He had never imagined that he might have to choose between his family and his career.


A/N: Written by Chaser 1 of Montrose Magpies for QLFC Round 9.

Prompt: Quaffle: Write about a witch or wizard being torn between two different people or groups.

Optional prompts: (image) chess set (il3. picdn shutterstock/ videos/ 12850949/ thumb/ 1. jpg); (word) defeated; (quote) Because when you are imagining, you might as well imagine something worthwhile. (Anne Shirley) ― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables (used for inspiration)

Word count: 2938 on Google Docs

Thank you to my teammates and my wonderful brother Kaayvan for betaing this for me. Happy birthday, Kaay!

This doesn't always align with how Harry and most of the Weasleys view particular events, but that's because I think Percy would have interpreted the key moments very differently than the rest of his family.

* * *

 _Nineteen years old_

Percy ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were puffy, and his cheeks were streaked with tears, but he didn't care. Nobody was there to see them, anyway, and chances were that they never would be again. Two letters were clenched in his right hand, the parchment on which they were written as crumpled and destitute as he felt. He had read through them enough times to know them by heart, but it still felt as if there was something he had missed. There had to be. There had to be some twist, some hidden meaning, some clue to say that it was just the twins making mischief like usual. But, deep down, he knew that there wasn't. And while he knew that things were as they had to be, that didn't make the pain hurt any less.

The first letter was from his mother, wishing him a happy birthday — the first one he had ever spent without any of his siblings present — and begging him to return home. She had said that she was sorry for pushing him away and that they could find a way to work around his new job.

The second was from Fred and George. Well, the handwriting was Fred's, but both of their names were signed at the bottom. They weren't as charitable as their mother. _They_ had said that he was stupid for leaving and for believing the Ministry's lies, but that he had always been more concerned with his career than his family, so they shouldn't have expected anything else. While they claimed to want him back, they made it clear that the price of admission was one resignation letter, please.

The logical part of Percy's brain was able to sift through the insults and find the pain that nestled between every word and phrase. He knew the twins well enough to know that, like the lions they were, they lashed out when they were frustrated or injured. Being their older brother meant realising when that was the case and learning how to deal with it. But in that moment, he didn't care anymore. He wasn't the one who had made the choice to leave. His parents were the ones who had claimed that he had only gotten his new job because the Minister wanted him to spy on them, ignoring the years of hard work he had put into getting himself there. They were the ones who insisted that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had come back — had _defeated_ death — and maintained that anyone who disagreed was willfully pulling wool over their eyes. They were the ones who had made him choose between his messy, wonderful family and this tough, once-in-a-lifetime career opportunity.

He would never have walked away if they hadn't pushed him halfway out the door.

-x-

 _Six years old_

The sound of laughter rang through the meadow as Percy ran, his short legs not quite able to move fast enough for him to keep up with his older brothers. Sweat gathered on his neck under the blistering weight of the sweltering sun, but he didn't care. Fred and George were watching from the sidelines, cheering him on, and that gave him the strength to push through. He knew that Bill and Charlie were still their favourites by far. They were only supporting him because he had already gotten _them_ out, so they wanted him to get the _others_ out as a matter of personal pride. That didn't matter, though. They were his brothers, and they loved him, and that was enough.

Charlie's foot slipped, sending him crashing down to the ground. Specks of mud flew through the air like tiny shooting stars.

Percy skidded to a stop beside his older brother, making sure to avoid the mud lest he fall as well. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"My wrist is a bit sore, but I'm fine."

The younger boy hesitated. His sense of sportsmanship called for him to wait until Charlie had risen again before tagging him. But the twins were still cheering, the noise getting louder and louder with every passing moment. In that moment, it felt like he was on top of the world. "That's good," he said, then he reached out and very deliberately touched his older brother's shoulder.

Charlie shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "Bill won't be so easy to get," he warned him.

Percy didn't care about easy. He still had ten minutes left until the timer ran out. And with his younger brothers behind him, he could do anything.

-x-

 _Eight years old_

Percy felt his breath leave his body as he took his first step into the Ministry of Magic. His eyes were wide with awe as his gaze darted around the Atrium, unable to stay in one place for too long lest he miss anything. He had imagined this moment for years, yet nothing could have prepared him for actually being there. The room was, simply put, magnificent. Golden symbols were splayed out across the peacock-blue ceiling, contrasting vividly with the dark wood of the walls and floor. Gilded fireplaces — the kind that he and his father had just stepped out of — lined the opposite wall, and as his father ushered him forward, he could see that the wall behind him was spotted with them as well. As he watched, more witches and wizards stepped out, pausing only long enough to get their bearings before striding away and being replaced by someone new. They all moved with a sense of drive and purpose that was more intense than anything he had ever seen. There was a sense of opulence and gravitas about it — as if it were impossible for anything that happened there _not_ to be important.

It was the most magnificent thing he had ever seen.

Percy barely noticed as his father led him to the middle of the room, far away from the bustling activity, before crouching down beside him.

"What do you think, Perce?" he asked, his tone light and teasing. "Is it everything you dreamed of and more?"

It took a moment for the words to register in Percy's mind. Forcing himself to tear his gaze away from all of the stern faces and serious work robes, he stared up at the man who was powerful and wise enough to hang the sun and stars in the sky. "I never want to leave."

His father threw his head back and laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

"I'm not joking," he said.

"I know you aren't," his father said, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Percy stepped backwards, out of the way of his hand. His eyebrows drew together in frustration. There were _people_ there, _important_ people, and his dad was just going to _humiliate_ him in front of them. " _Dad!_ I'm nine years old. I'm not a baby."

"My apologies. I keep forgetting how mature you're getting." He drew his hand back, but while he had stopped smiling, his eyes still glinted with amusement. "But what about us? Wouldn't you miss your mother and brothers and Ginny and me?" His father had stopped smiling, but amusement still danced in his eyes.

"You're here every day," Percy pointed out. "And Mum and the others could visit us whenever they want."

"And what would you be doing here?" his father asked.

Percy looked up at the ornate portrait that hung above the welcoming desk. "I'll help him."

Beside him, he felt his father turn so he could follow his gaze. "That's the Minister for Magic."

"I know. And I'm going to help him. Then, one day, when he steps down, I'm going to run in his place."

"You're still a little young for that, I'm afraid," his father said. "The Ministry doesn't employ anyone under seventeen years of age. But I can't imagine anyone better suited to it than you, my boy. If you study hard and put your mind to it, nothing will be able to stop you."

Percy nodded. He would. He would study, and he would prove himself, and he would become the Minister for Magic, and he would change the world. It would be difficult, but all of the books he had read assured him that the best things always were.

-x-

 _Fifteen years old_

A loud banging tore Percy's attention from the textbook that was lying open on his desk. The teenager rolled his eyes and grabbed a piece of paper to use as a bookmark, knowing that he wouldn't be able to study until the person had left. It was an occupational hazard of living at the Burrow, unfortunately; as much as he loved his family, none of them truly understood his decision to spend his summer holidays studying. Even his parents, both of whom supported his dreams, sometimes looked at him with concern when he refused to play Quidditch with his brothers or preferred to ask his father about work than make small talk about his own day. What they didn't understand was that aiming high meant making sacrifices.

Before he had the chance to call out a greeting, Fred and George burst into the room, sporting matching wicked grins.

Percy sighed. At least they had knocked this time, he supposed. "You should wait until I answer before coming in," he pointed out. "I could have been getting changed."

"Come on, Perce," George said, not even acknowledging his comment. "You've been up here all morning."

"Seriously," Fred agreed. "There aren't even enough books in the world to warrant the amount of time you spend up here."

George nodded. "You must have read them all a dozen times by now."

Percy frowned. He knew they were just pulling his leg — they _couldn't_ be serious — and yet… "Actually — "

"What are you talking about, George?" Fred asked, cutting in. For a moment, Percy thought Fred might have come to his senses. But then, he continued, "He has to have read them a hundred times, at _least_."

"Are you quite done?"

"Not even remotely," George said, grinning. "But we don't have time for that now — "

" — because Mum wants you downstairs — "

" — and she said it's urgent, so — "

" — I would hurry if I were you."

"But he's not — "

" — which is a good thing, really, because that would be _so boring_."

"Then why didn't you _start_ with that?" Percy immediately stood up, putting his textbook back in its proper place on his bookshelf. He was so used to their insults that barely even noticed the little dig.

"Oh, Percy," Fred said as if he were a small child, "where's the fun in that?"

Ignoring him, Percy walked over to the doorway and stood beside it, waiting for the twins to leave first. He had learned the hard way to make sure they were never in his room without supervision. As he followed them out, he turned and shut the door behind him. "Lock," he murmured, activating the charm he had begged his parents to cast on it before he left for Hogwarts for the first time, knowing that the room would be an agility course of pranks and tricks by the time he came back if they didn't. It was keyed to his voice so that nobody except he and his parents could activate it, and it was a constant lifesaver.

He had no idea what he'd do when the twins worked out how to get through it or, worse yet, were old enough to just Apparate to the other side.

-x-

 _Seventeen years old_

Percy let out a breath and closed his eyes as he settled onto the lounge, allowing himself to sit down for the first time since waking up that morning. Working for Crouch was a fantastic opportunity, but it was also exhausting. Tiredness seemed to permeate through every part of his body, from his eyes to his bones to his aching feet. The Ministry was proving to be like a chess tournament; it was imperative to plan several steps ahead in order to stay afloat, let alone flourish. So many pieces and plots were in motion, and it was difficult to work out which of his new colleagues were pawns and which were queens in the making. Until he could work that out — and even after that, really — he had to be on his best behaviour with everyone. That meant running around on errands and going above and beyond every request to make sure that he left a good impression.

His mouth hurt from smiling so much, and his neck was beginning to develop a cramp from all of the nodding.

Still, he thought his first week had gone fairly well overall. Crouch seemed pleased with his work, and while he kept calling him Weatherby, Percy was sure that that would go away eventually. It was a compliment, really. Percy knew that Crouch's last assistant had been called Weatherby, and _he_ had resigned to take up quite a good position in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, which had less prestige but, if the rumours were to be believed, had always been his dream department. If Crouch couldn't tell Percy's work apart from Weatherby's, then he must be doing something right.

That was what he kept telling himself, anyway.

With a flick of his wand, Percy summoned some parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from his bag. He usually would have walked over to get it himself, hoping to set a good example for the twins even when they weren't around to see it, but he was just too weary. Still, he had promised Charlie that he would write to him to let him know how the Ministry was going, and if he didn't do it soon, there was a very good chance that he would fall asleep where he sat. He knew his brother wouldn't mind if he waited until the next day, but family was family, and a promise was a promise.

-x-

 _Eighteen years old_

Percy stared down at the job offer in his hands. He had been so excited when he had first received it. Academic excellence wasn't a foreign concept to him, and he had always imagined that he would excel in the workplace as well — since the point of goals was to push oneself, he had never seen the point of aiming low — but he had never truly expected it. Not so quickly, at any rate. He had been unable to wipe the smile from his face as he left work and went straight home, eager to share his good news with his family. The joy had been so all-consuming that he hadn't even noticed the concern in his parents' expressions until his father started speaking about ulterior motives and other chances and misplaced trust. He hadn't wanted to hurt them, but in his shock and anger, the words had come spilling out. Before he knew it, he was saying all of the things that he had thought but not said and that he had heard but not believed. He supposed he was more like the twins than he'd thought, lashing out when he felt cornered and alone.

His hands tightened around the parchment, crinkling it slightly. For a moment, he considered ripping it up and pretending that he had never even seen it. It would be so easy to go home and step into line and tell them the things they wanted to hear. Thinking up a reason to decline the position would be a little harder, given that he had made no secret of his desire to advance through the Ministry, but he could find an excuse. Or the twins could; they were good at that sort of thing.

There was only one problem: he shouldn't have to. His parents had told him for years that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been defeated and was finally gone for good. He could remember how sombre and dangerous everything had been when he was a child until, one day, the whole world seemed to shift on its axis, shedding light where there had previously been nothing but darkness. Now, they were telling him that his whole life had been a lie and, better yet, that their evidence was the word of an old man with a history of poor judgement and a teenage boy who was clearly traumatised. Not only that, but they wanted him to give up everything he had been working towards in service of their little fantasy. The Ministry wasn't making him choose; _they_ were.

His mother no longer seemed like the wisest woman in the world, and his father was no longer the man who hung up the sun and stars. His older brothers were no longer the yardsticks by which he measured success, and his younger brothers were no longer the ones cheering him on from the sidelines as he tried to do something extraordinary. His sister was no longer the girl with carefree eyes and a clean conscience. But they were his messy, wonderful family, and he loved them all the same.

But he could not — _would_ not — throw away his future on a lie. And if they loved him as much as he loved them, they wouldn't have asked him to.

His grip on the parchment loosened, and he reached out to pick up a nearby quill. He found the space next to his name and, with a hand that was steady despite his shaking nerves, signed his name with a flourish.


End file.
